


Name your crime

by belmanoir



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: First Time, M/M, References to attempted suicide, references to Bunny Manders/Original Male Character, references to sodomy laws, shameless sentimentality, this was supposed to be porn dammit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir
Summary: Raffles knows how Bunny feels about him...doesn't he?I had never made any secret to Raffles of my adoration for him—that is, I had notsaidit outright, for that I knew would embarrass even him. Not that I expected him to show it, for in addition to an unflappable aplomb, he had kindlier instincts than he would ever admit to. But the most tactful rebuff in the world could not but pain me, and he would be sorry for it.But heknew.So I supposed, at any rate, until Currier Warnham came back from France...
Relationships: Bunny Manders/A. J. Raffles
Comments: 18
Kudos: 39





	Name your crime

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.

I had never made any secret to Raffles of my adoration for him—that is, I had not _said_ it outright, for that I knew would embarrass even him. Not that I expected him to show it, for in addition to an unflappable aplomb, he had kindlier instincts than he would ever admit to. But the most tactful rebuff in the world could not but pain me, and he would be sorry for it.

But he _knew_. It was my chief use to him, after all: that I would do anything he asked—and more he didn’t, should I judge him in need of it. If he’d wanted a confederate like himself—well, I don’t imagine he could have found one, for there never was anybody else like him. But he could have found any number of accomplices better suited than _me_ to cracking a crib, and if he _must_ have somebody he could take to his club, I even knew of a handful with as much breeding, as few scruples, and twice the brains. But how could he have trusted them?

There’s no honor among thieves; but it was not _honor_ that made me loyal, and he knew it.

So I supposed, at any rate, until Currier Warnham came back from France. He’d been my year at school, and gone to university with me too, though he'd graduated and I didn't; we’d been, if you’ll pardon the expression, thick as thieves. Lovers too, on and off, though nothing in the way of a serious attachment.

He’d gained a bit of notoriety in the years since, by exhibiting scandalously lovely pictures of naked young men—rather the sort of thing Raffles liked to hang on his wall. I never had my friend’s eye for art, but for whatever my opinion was worth I thought Warnham’s paintings very fine, and plenty of people agreed with me, even the stuffiest. He was doing a show in London that spring, and invited me to dine.

Raffles laughed when I told him. “Currier Warnham? Ask him his going rate for models, won’t you? We could use a few pounds to tide us over while I sort out this Richmond job.”

I flushed bright crimson at the idea of Raffles posing.

Raffles’s smile had a malicious edge to it. “I was only joking, Bunny. Of course you’d never agree to anything of the sort.”

I blinked. “I’ll have you know I sat for him already once or twice at university, when he was too hard up to pay for models.” His eyes opened wide, and I tugged at my collar, suddenly self-conscious. “I know I haven’t really the figure for it, but it was only as an exercise.”

Raffles _howled_ then, throwing himself headlong into a chair and burying his face in his hands.

I hunched my shoulders. “My figure’s not as bad as all _that.”_

“I’m not laughing at _you_ , dear boy,” he got out between wheezes. “I’m in awe of the cast-iron purity of your mind, in fact. Do you suppose he still has the canvases?” His voice was not by any means hysterical, but it was nearer than I’d heard it yet.

“He stripped them for reuse,” I said rather stiffly, and left him still in his fit.

I felt rather resentful as I set out for the Café Royal. Did Raffles think I didn’t know he out-classed me? Did he have to rub it in my face? And to ask if the paintings still existed, as though dying to amuse himself further at the incongruity of Bunny Manders as an aesthetic allegory!

But I’d had time to cool down when I got to dinner, and gone over the conversation again. Was it...was it just possible he thought I didn’t know what sort of paintings Warnham made, and who bought them?

The idea seemed absurd on its face. He couldn’t think me unaware of his _own_ proclivities, could he? He had never made any real secret of them in sympathetic company, any more than I had.

But it came to me in an unsettling trickle that he _had_ been years ahead of me in school, and left while I was still just a kid, really, to play cricket for a far better university than the one I attended. When we went about now, we saw _his_ friends, not mine. And absurd as the notion was, it brought his odd behavior tonight more in line with his character, which generally waited upon provocation to be cruel.

I meant to put him from my mind at dinner, and might even have succeeded if Currier hadn’t brought him up. “So,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve finally landed Raffles after all these years. _Per aspera ad astra_ , and no mistake! I’m delighted for you, darling.”

I flushed. Fortunately pride was never one of my chief faults, but this kind of explanation was the worst of my position’s humiliations; I minded it far more than the pitying eyes of the cricketers at Lords, when they saw me trailing after my idol. “Not—not in that way. He and I are friends merely.”

Currier’s eyebrows went up. “Really? That is—I shall take your word for it, of course, I only heard you were living in each other’s pockets.”

“I suppose we are,” I said miserably, “but there’s the limit of it. Let’s talk about something else, can’t we?” My flush deepened. “He did—he did ask what your going rate is for models.”

Currier’s eyes lit up. “You don’t suppose he was serious? I’d pay him twice my rate if he cared to sit.” He sighed wistfully. “What I’d give to paint the two of you together! Jacob wrestling with the Angel, perhaps—oh, I’m sorry, Bunny, I didn’t mean to pour salt in the wound. Being an artist is a bit like being in love, that way, except it’s the Muse you’re trampling over your friends for.”

He turned the subject, and I very much enjoyed the rest of our dinner. We were both in high spirits and pretty tipsy by the time we reached my rooms in Mount Street. “Shall I come in?” he asked, and I understood by his tone that he meant for something more than another drink. “I shan’t take it to heart if you’d rather I toddled off.”

I really had enjoyed dinner, and Currier was handsomer than ever. But I believe what decided me was that if I refused him, he would think it was on Raffles's account, and be sorry for me. I grinned at him. “If you don’t mind waiting for the place to warm up. I didn’t know when I’d be back, and left the fire out.”

He said he didn’t mind at all, and we proceeded inside. “I thought you said you left the fire out."

“I thought I did.” Had I made a mistake? The rooms were warm and cozy, and there was plenty of coal in the grate.

Then I smelled Sullivans, and remembered who had my key. I stepped further into the sitting room and beheld the man himself, sprawled in an armchair with one of my books in his hand. He looked up with the most pleasant, natural smile in the world as we entered. “Sorry to let myself in so late, Bunny. I need a small loan, as it happens. Hullo! If it isn’t Currier Warnham, all grown up. I’ve heard great things about your exhibition.”

Currier raised his eyebrows at me as he shook Raffles’s hand. Between the liquor, my embarrassment, and having just stepped out of the cool air into a warm room, I must have been pretty red. But I knew Raffles’s bank balance as well as my own; the loan could only be a pretext. “Of course,” I said readily. “Come into the other room with me, and I’ll write you a check.”

“Has something come up on the Richmond job?” I whispered when my bedroom door was shut upon us.

He opened his mouth—and then closed it again. “Nothing that can’t wait until morning.”

I eyed him narrowly. “If you need me, I’ll give Warnham my excuses.”

He sighed, and shook his head. “I nearly did make up some rash errand a moment ago, but the truth is, I was feeling low and wanted a change of scenery. Now I’ve had one, and you can walk me to the door with a clear conscience.”

Now I was really worried, for it was unlike Raffles to speak openly of his black moods, though I had observed them often enough. “I’ll get rid of him in a trice. Wait here.”

“Won’t he wonder at it?”

I laughed rather ruefully, and squeezed his shoulder. “Not for a moment.”

And indeed, Currier did not look at all surprised to get the brush-off. “Well, I’m sorry to miss it,” was all he said, and leaned in for a quick kiss.

I felt self-conscious, for unlike Currier I knew Raffles would not scruple to peer through a keyhole. But I pressed his hand, and said, “You’re in town a while yet, aren’t you? If you’re not too busy, we’ll…” I trailed off, realizing that he _would_ be too busy.

He grinned. “If the exhibition is a flop, maybe you’ll find _me_ on your doorstep in the middle of the night in need of a loan.”

“No chance,” I said promptly. “But if it comes to that, you know I’ll give it to you.”

We realized what I’d said at the same time, and snickered. “Don’t I just,” he said with a wink, and was on his way.

I felt rather awkward when he was gone, and was still standing with my hand on my latch when Raffles came out of my room.

“So that’s the lay of the land,” he said slowly. “You have hidden depths, Bunny.”

I turned to look at him. If he had _not_ known, it would not be much of a leap from one truth to another, greater one.

The idea of him _knowing_ I loved him had never troubled me as much as the prospect of him _finding out_ did now. Would it change things between us that I had thought settled? I was proud of my steady voice when I answered him, for nothing else felt steady—not my hands, or my pulse, or my legs. “No. Not hidden. I…well, I suppose I had better ask what you mean before I make a fool of myself.”

He slouched in the doorway, eyes sharp. “How serious is it between you and Warnham?”

“Not a jot.”

“But you did pose for him.” He did not laugh at the idea now; his splendid mouth was grim.

“I told you I did.” I stared at him. _If he didn’t know, perhaps he’ll be glad,_ the voice of hope whispered—the worst ill, surely, to come out of Pandora’s box. I couldn’t bear it—had rather be angry, had rather upbraid him. I got my hands round hope’s throat and squeezed. “I know I’m not your equal for worldliness, Raffles, but this is insulting. You thought—what? That it never crossed my dull mind Warnham liked the Greeks for anything but their philosophic ideals? D’you think only gorgeous, witty, artistic fellows can be inverts, for God’s sake?”

Raffles blinked, and coughed. “Is that—do you mean—?”

I had rarely seem him at such a loss, and I remembered suddenly that he had said his spirits were depressed. “Forget it. I didn’t mean to rip up at you. Have a seat and I’ll fix you a drink. Will you have whiskey-and-soda or coffee?”

“Coffee, I should think.” Raffles wandered to the bookshelf, and half-pulled one of my volumes of Balzac from its place. “If you weren’t hiding it from me, why didn’t I know? You’ve never introduced me to anybody, never spoken of any connections…”

“You never asked,” I said shortly, putting the kettle on. “I never spoke of any women either, except the one, and her only because I was drunk. You went out of your way to make me regret confiding in you.” I could not see his face, but his back went very still. “You’ve met my friends, some of them. I thought you knew, that’s all. Everybody else does.”

“I’m sorry.” He turned round to face me, very deliberately. “You know, of course, that it’s the same with me. I hope to God you know I don’t think any the less of you for it. If I’ve avoided personal questions, it’s only because I knew I’d mucked up that side of things for you for good, by telling you a secret you never asked for, yourself, and couldn’t share.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry for throwing an old quarrel in your face,” I said gruffly. “If you’d left me alone, I’d be dead, not married. I know you remember, because every time you visit, I find my gun emptied of bullets.”

His left hand, leaning on the bookshelf, tightened. The other crept into his pocket. “Yes, I—a nervous habit, I suppose.” He laid my cartridges in a row on the edge of the shelf, rather shamefaced.

I could smile at him after that, as I measured out his coffee beans. “Here, this will cheer you: Warnham says he’ll pay you double his usual fee, if you like to sit for him.”

He laughed and frowned at once. “Not very complimentary to you, I should think.”

I flushed. “I wasn’t offended.”

“No, you’ve too little egoism for it. Luckily I’ve enough to take offense for both of us. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Bunny, and most people have awful taste. A good thing too, or we’d never get so many ten-carat stones. But I’d given Warnham more credit.”

Hope stirred again, and again I strangled it. He might mean anything. “A very neat compliment,” I told him. “But if you’ve got something to say, I wish you wouldn't speak in riddles, and if you haven’t, my vanity don’t need propping up.”

He pushed off the bookshelf. “Poor Bunny. But I never meant to be obscure any more than you did. Rather the opposite, as it happens; I would say I’ve gone out of my way to confirm impertinent speculations.”

“What do you _mean?_ ”

His sigh was resigned. “You’re right: better to have this over quickly, and know the worst.” Did he dread hearing that I loved him, or that I didn’t? And how could he doubt it? Resolve looked magnificent on him, as it always did; up came the firm chin, and the steely eyes flashed. "You told me once I had only to name my crime, Bunny, and you were my man.”

“Yes.”

He took a quick, sharp breath. “Gross indecency.”

I let up the pressure of my thumb on hope’s windpipe; it left me dizzy. “Why stop at the misdemeanor?”

His expression didn’t change. “Sodomy, then.”

“As often as you like.”

Dawn broke in his face, and my apprehension fled for good—but I could see his lingering, a trace of a cloud just between his brows.

“I wish you’d take me at my word,” I said. The kettle hissed behind me, but at the moment I didn’t trust myself to take it off without dropping it on my feet.

He took a step towards me. “I know. Poor Bunny! I’ve got what I deserved for doubting you. I only wish I hadn’t let you in for the same sentence, as usual.”

“How the hell did you think I felt?” I burst out.

His hand curled around the back of my neck. “I thought—forgive me, dear boy—you were sorry for me.”

My jaw dropped.

He huffed an exasperated breath. “And hard up; of course you needed the cash. But—well, I made it pretty plain I was eager for you to stay. And then _you_ made it pretty plain you thought I’d get in a scrape I couldn’t get myself out of, without you. Probably you had the right of it.” His thumb stroked gently over my collarbone. “I was grateful you minded. I'd been going merrily to the devil for years without anybody thinking much of it.”

“And you never asked yourself _why_ I minded?”

“It didn't seem much of a puzzle.” He drew me towards him. “You told me yourself you never in your life went back on a friend—that that was how you’d got yourself in such a hole.”

I couldn’t help it; my lips twitched. I opened them to speak.

“Bunny, I’m ashamed of you!” His laugh was joyous. “I suppose since we’re already being so hideously unsubtle, a cheap double entendre can’t make it worse. But you’d better say it in the next half a minute, if you want the chance.”

I grinned at him. “I can think of another hole or two I’d like to get myself into.”

The blue eyes gleamed. “Name them.”

“I’d rather kiss them,” I said boldly—and for once I wasn’t ashamed of my impetuosity. We were _both_ of us too cautious and too reckless by turns, and always had been. Yes, there his caution was—his face went still, to keep me from seeing that I had excited him. I loved him for it—loved him for everything. “But, A.J.…”

“I am in a dilemma,” he said lightly, his lips inches from mine. “If I assure you I shan’t hold you to it, you will accuse me of mistrusting you again.”

“It isn’t that,” I said with difficulty. “I meant every word. I only—I should like us to be entirely honest with each other, for once.”

"Must we?" He let me go, and I was very sorry for it. But he put his hands back in his pockets and regarded me gravely. “I shall do my poor best, rabbit, for you.”

I bowed my head to keep from touching him. “I can bear it,” I said, “when you keep me in the dark about our work. I can stand to wait all day in my rooms without news, because you sent me a telegram and asked me to do it. You have criminal associates you don’t want me to know; probably you’ve got bolt-holes I’ll never see. I can accept that, more or less. But when I think you might have lovers you don’t mean to tell me about…” I caught his wrist. “I know I ask too many questions, Raffles, when I ought to have faith. But please, in _this_ , tell me your plans precisely.”

His eyes glittered. “ _I_ was not kissing the great Currier Warnham on my doorstep half an hour ago.”

This was all still so new, that only now did I really understand that he was jealous. My frank delight did me no credit. “I’m fond of Warnham,” I admitted, and watched, incredulous, as color stained his sharp cheekbones. Raffles, jealous of me! “But he knows there’s no more to it than that. I should be very glad to tell him it must be only dinner next time, and he would be glad _for_ me.”

The flush did not fade from his cheeks—but it spread to a delicate pink.

“He said…” Was it giving up an advantage, to tell him? Yet it was an advantage I had long since meant to surrender—that I had, in truth, believed properly his. “He congratulated me on landing you at last, and gave me his sincere condolences when I told him it was no such thing.” I tugged his hand from his pocket, and brought his fingers to my lips. “I’m yours. I’ve been yours all this time. If you really didn’t know, you’ve got to be the only one.”

He traced my lower lip with his finger. “I thought they were all fools,” he said. “What a pair we are! And I the more selfish, as always; _I_ never troubled to correct anybody, unless it was for a job. I liked them to think it.” His mouth curled in self-derision. “I wanted Warnham to think it, in fact—went out of my way to show off I had your key.”

I licked the tip of his finger. “Your plans, Raffles.”

He hooked his thumb over my lip, and laid it on the edge of my bottom teeth. “I told you that first night that I’d chuck up the game when I brought off a big enough _coup._ You’ve guessed by now that I didn’t mean a word of it, so far as larceny goes. But as for _this_ sort of crime, Bunny, I expect you’ll see me comfortably settled.”

 _You could have anybody you liked,_ I almost said. But evidently he’d like to have me. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. “What do you see in me?” I asked, rather muffled by his thumb. “I was so sure you knew, and—” I realized all at once, to my astonishment, that it would wound him if I finished the sentence. But I had said too much already; I could have sliced out my tongue, for his face changed.

“You thought I knew,” he said slowly, his finger sliding from my mouth, “and liked to hold it over you?”

“No,” I protested, not entirely truthfully. “I thought you trusted me to stand by you on account of it.”

He shook his head. “You wanted honesty; don't do things by halves now. Nothing I have was got by _deserving_ it, least of all you.”

His eyes dwelt on my face, and for the first time I understood that that reserved, unreadable expression was...well, it would be for him to put a name to the feeling, if and when he chose. But I could not catch my breath, for I saw it took all his ruthless self-command to disguise it—that what he felt for me would have ruled him if he let it.

“I know you thought I was laughing at you earlier, about those paintings,” he said. “But what else is a man to do, when the gods thumb their noses at him? I think Tantalus must laugh now and then, at finding himself still the butt of the same tired joke.”

I smoothed my thumb over the pulse in his wrist and pulled him towards me, meaning to show him how entirely I was within his grasp.

But he brought his long fingers up, and laid them over my heart. “If I were really a painter, instead of a cracksman with a rented studio,” he said quietly, “I would pay every penny I had to make you sit for me. I would paint no one but you. And when I had perfectly reproduced your form and features, everyone would congratulate me—but I would be dissatisfied, because I had not captured the beauty of your spirit.”

“ _Raffles_ ,” I said with an embarrassed laugh. I won’t pretend I really objected to having my vanity propped up, once I knew there was a grain of truth in it. But that was too much even for me.

He shook his head, hypnotic gaze holding mine. “I would get your promise not to go until I had your soul on canvas, Bunny.”

Did he expose himself thus as a penance? He owed me none—but my scruples were never really any finer than his, and I let him do it.

“And when you promised, I would know that I could cheat, now, and keep you forever by slacking my efforts. But I would know, too, that I'd never need to, not when I could labor all my life in good faith and never be genius enough to show to others what I see when I look at you.”

It was his turn for an embarrassed laugh. “There, Bunny, I’ve answered your question in full for once. I’m sorry now I didn’t demand a sonnet or two in exchange, for poetry is your bailiwick, not mine. In prose, then, in case I was _obscure:_ I haven’t any lovers at the moment, and shall stop at one in future, for as long as he’ll have me." His eyes narrowed. "You’d better do the same, I think, for I don’t suppose I'd take it gracefully.”

I turned his hand over in mine, and kissed his palm. “You _don’t_ need to cheat to keep me. You never did.” I kissed his wrist—pulled out his cuff-link and shoved up his sleeve to get at his forearm.

He ran a finger over the curve of my ear. “No need to do things piecemeal. We’ll have the whole kit off in a trice if you like.”

It was sinking in that he meant it—that he would let me do whatever I liked to him. That he had had no motive for suffering my deficiencies as an accomplice, but wanting me with him. That he had told me from the first, _You’re the very man for me,_ and I ought to have trusted his word. “You’re mine,” I dared to say to him. “Aren’t you?”

"Not yet." His lashes veiled his eyes. "But the night is young.”

I kissed his perfect mouth. “Yes,” I promised him. “Yes.” As I turned to pull him into the bedroom, my eyes fell on the kettle. “Raffles, your coffee!”

The steel-blue eyes opened, laughing at me. In a moment I would kiss the fine lines at their corners. One day they would be deeper, and I would have the right to kiss them still. “Set it to steeping,” he said. “I’ll drink it after.”

“It will be too strong.”

His smile was wicked. “I don’t plan on sleeping, do you?”

“I drank at dinner,” I admitted, wishing I’d followed his rule and stopped at one. “But if I do nod off, you’re welcome to stay. I should like you to, if you don’t mind borrowing my pyjamas.”

“Not in the least,” he said promptly. “I shall borrow every pair you’ve got, and oblige you to sleep naked.”

“You could just ask.”

“I know I could,” he said, and my heart sang at how easily, how triumphantly he said it—as though the knowledge were a sack of diamonds I’d poured into his lap. “But where’s the fun in that?”

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank Pervert Hero for the "hope is the worst thing to come out of Pandora's box" idea, and for giving me permission to use it in this fic.


End file.
